


Winter is Coming

by mldrgrl



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, revival era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-08 22:52:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16438364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mldrgrl/pseuds/mldrgrl
Summary: A little cold weather fluff circa the revival, but basically ignoring everything but the fact they haven’t been living together.





	Winter is Coming

Mulder has been thinking about the wood burning stove on his drive home.  It needs to be cleaned. Earlier in the week, he’d finally closed the windows in the bedroom as the temperature started to drop overnight.  Tonight, it’s supposed to drop into the low 40s. If he cleans the stove, he can start his weekend by building a fire and watching The Outer Limits marathon that’s been waiting for him on the DVR.

 

Within an hour of getting home, he’s changed his suit for jeans and a sweater, cleaned the stove, brought in a basket of wood from the pile in the shed, and started a can of soup for dinner.  It’s already dark out and the front room is toasty warm.

 

He’s on his way to the couch with a bowl of tomato soup in one hand and half a cheese sandwich in his mouth when he hears the sound of tires against dirt and then a pair of headlights crosses the wall of the front room.  He peeks out the window and sees Scully’s SUV rolling to a stop alongside his car. He sets the bowl of soup on the coffee table, keeps the half a sandwich minus a bite in the middle with him, and goes to the front door.

 

The last time Mulder saw Scully was as he bid her goodnight in the parking garage at work.  They had no plans to see each other tonight or over the weekend. In fact, she had told him she was looking forward to a quiet evening at home for a change, since they’d been out of town almost every weekend the last month.

 

“Hey, stranger,” Mulder says, pushing the screen door open to step out onto the porch.  He shivers a little when his bare feet touch the cold wood.

 

Scully slowly trudges up the porch stairs, her hands shoved into the pockets of a down coat.  He knows her well enough to know she’s trying to act casual, like the reason her shoulders are pulled in tight are because of the cold, but she’s got a bashful look on her face too like she’s afraid she might be interrupting something.

 

“You’ve got the stove going,” she says, lifting her chin a little to sniff the air.

 

He lifts his arm a little and pushes the screen door open a little wider.  She ducks under his arm and steps inside. He takes another bite of his sandwich and follows, shutting the door softly behind them.

 

“Want some soup?” he asks.

 

“I’ll get it.”  She takes her coat off and hangs it on the peg by the door.

 

Mulder watches her shuffle off to the kitchen, pushing the sleeves of her sweater up on her way.  He gathers up the discarded newspapers from the second side of the couch and tosses them towards the desk where some of them land, and some of them slip to the floor.  He finishes the half of his sandwich with too large of bite just to free his hands and rearrange the afghan over the back of the couch. His mouth is still a little too full when Scully joins him, cupping a soup bowl with both hands and blowing steam from the top.

 

For her benefit, Mulder pulls the coffee table a little closer to the couch as she sits beside him.  She sets her bowl down and lifts the spoon she’d been palming, poised to dip into the soup.

 

“Hey,” Mulder says, picking up his own spoon and holding it close to hers.  “Cheers.”

 

She leans into him so that their shoulders touch and clinks her spoon with his.  “Cheers,” she says with a small smile.

 

He’s intensely curious as to why she’s shown up on his doorstep, but he doesn’t ask.  He sits back against the couch with his bowl against his chest and she leans forward over the coffee table.  They both spoon their soup while the fire crackles and pops in the background.

 

Mulder finishes first.  His spoon clatters in the empty bowl and he slides it to the middle of the coffee table and then sits back again.  Scully pushes her bowl away unfinished and sits back with him. He’s got his arm stretched out along the back of the couch.  The top of her head grazes the inside of his elbow. While he loses himself for a few moments in reminiscing about days past where they sat close together and tried to pretend their touches were accidental, she unzips her boots and then folds her legs up underneath her.  Her knee butts his thigh and her shoulder juts up into the hollow of his armpit.

 

“It’s turned cold,” she says.

 

He drops his arm down and wraps it around her, rubbing her bicep lightly.  “Is that why you’re here? To warm up?”

 

“Remember how drafty it was when we first moved in?”

 

“Nothing a little sanding and patching couldn’t fix.”

 

“And the down comforter.”

 

“That thing.  I was still pulling feathers out of my ass until summer.”

 

The little puff of air from her nose is almost a laugh.  “We’d have been better off zipping two sleeping bags together.”

 

“You would’ve gotten no objection from me on that one.”

 

She smiles up at him and rubs her cheek against his shoulder.  He squeezes her arm and reaches over to brush his finger down her nose because he’s not really sure if he’s allowed to simply kiss her yet.  She’s been hesitant about committing again and he wants to respect whatever pace brings her back. Some days it’s enough just to work with her again and some days the ache of missing holding her makes his chest hurt.

 

“Doesn’t that smarthouse of yours have heat?” he asks, tracing the curve of her cheekbone with his thumb.

 

“It’s not the same.”

 

He nods a little, but he isn’t sure what he’s agreeing with.  He’s too busy staring at her mouth. He should look up and meet her eyes again, but he’s only just realized her face has been scrubbed clean of makeup and his favorite little mole above her upper lip that she’s ridiculously anxious about is exposed.

 

“I’ll never have to stuff towels into the cracks of the windows,” she says.  “Or wear two pairs of socks to cross the floor. Or worry about the power going out.  And I won’t have to wonder if I’ll be snowed in and can’t get out.”

 

“Sounds great,” he murmurs to her mole, sliding his hand down her cheek so he can touch it.

 

“Do you still have that down comforter?”

 

“No.  But, if you want, I can order some sleeping bags online.”

 

He can read all the what ifs going by in her eyes.  What if he didn’t order enough wood for the season? What if there’s a snowstorm and the drive to the gate is blocked for days?  What if he starts obsessing about government conspiracies again? What if unresolved guilt about their son rears its ugly head again?  What if she isn’t enough? What if they stop talking about? What if she forgets to put her socks on before she gets out of bed and the floor is too chilly?  What if he forgets to put the toilet seat down?

 

“What about tonight?” she asks.

 

“Just me and a blanket.”

 

She relaxes against him and closes her eyes as she ducks her head.  He runs his fingers through her hair. She whispers something, but he can’t hear her.  “Hm?” he asks.

 

“I said I think that’s all I’ve ever really needed, Mulder.”

 

It chokes him up a little to hear her say it, so he doesn’t respond with words.  Instead, he wraps his other arm around her and holds her against his chest. If she can feel the way his heart is fluttering, she doesn’t say anything, but she snuggles close and sighs.  He has to swallow a few times to push down the emotions pinching his throat and even so, his voice comes out a little higher than usual.

 

“You sure you wouldn’t be happier in that heated house without a draft, Scully?  They’re predicting a rough winter.”

 

“There are a lot of things I’m unsure of, Mulder, but this isn’t one of them.”

 

“Okay.”

 

They don’t do much that night aside from sit together and keep each other warm.  Her kisses, little delicate presses of her lips to his jaw and neck and brow and nose and mouth and closed eyes are a thousand times better than The Outer Limits marathon that waits for another night.

 

The End

 


End file.
